Stasis

Black and stasis.
Fuzzy. Like static on an old television
With the ears unadjusted.
The tin foil is gone, out of sight.
My first memory, ever,
I'm floating, or falling
Like a dream where you jolt wide awake,
But before the jolt, before I open my liquid eyes,
There's only nothingness.
My limbs are unresponsive.
I can not even remember them existing.
I am just there.
The rest of my memories are fluid but like a river running backwards,
I just stepped out of the shower and I look into the foggy mirror,
My pale body, shivering in the cold,
It's the newest, it comes first,
Fresh like snowy paper with fine warm ink.
I can remember yesterday, the sludge of depression smearing my view, like dirt under my translucent nails,
It's grimey, just from taking vitamins.
Grade eleven, where I cut my thighs to pink and white tissue paper,
To feel anything. Hopefully alive,
The birthday party I had when I was nine, scaly lizards and an old wooden stage
With a hollow underbelly like a whale,
I crawl inside, I crawl inside.
Like the doctors did to my thigh, the surgery that leaves a nasty, but fading scar
Resembling the scalpel they used to tear my pure little body in two.
Telling the boys I didn't want friends in kindergarten and looking at the felted puppet which resembled a black and white cat,
Or sitting on a spare bed with my mom when I was two,
Playing Paper Mario on an old machine connected to an old television screen,
Always fuzzy with static,
Stasis,
It always ends in the black nothingness.

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